To hit Daytona's banking, this old Miata needed extreme upgrades

New parts for the miles ahead.

A car will tell you its life story if you let it. Pick up a wrench and carefully leaf through the bits and pieces, sift past the dirt and wrinkled metal, and it's all there for the reading. It's more than how often the oil was changed or when the center console got broken. You can know how hard the miles were. You can see the previous owner's adoration in the honey-colored metal under the valve cover. You can read devotion in the repairs.

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I'd agreed to take part in an Optima Ultimate Street Car Association event in Daytona, complete with laps on the road course, which meant the Miata not only needed to deliver me to the Sunshine State in one piece, but also had to hold up to some on-track antics. Even from Cantle's rosy description of the car, it was clear the Mazda was going to need some love, so I put out a call to the cavalry at Flyin' Miata.

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These guys are the patron saints of Miata foolishness, and when I described what I planned to do, owner Bill Cardell offered to save me from mechanical calamity with a stack of parts. Bill had talked Keith Tanner and Brandon Fitch, two of the company's speed-afflicted goons, into blowing the tail of their weekend carving up the Million-Mile Miata.

Modifying a car like this one is a gamble. Any machine that lives to see 328,000 miles on the odometer is a delicate system. Removing, altering, or enhancing any one element can put stress on another and cause the whole structure to collapse. Instead of a brilliant little blue roadster that survived 25 years in Los Angeles, you're left with a pile of expensive parts on a derelict machine.

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I met Keith and Brandon back in 2011 when Flyin' Miata invited me to tag along as a co-driver in the Targa Newfoundland. I spent five days bouncing around in the passenger seat of the company's supercharged 2006 Miata with Brandon at the wheel in the Grand Touring class while Keith and his wife Jannel campaigned a 1990 V8 Miata in the open Targa class. It was life-changing in all the right ways.

But there isn't much time for merry reunions. Colorado is a long way from Florida, and after the ferry debacle, I'm already pushing my timeline.

"Chris Cantle/Zach Bowman"

The Miata needed the basics situated before I could trust it to carry me 3000 miles east, so Brandon got started with a timing belt and water pump change while I drained all the fluids. Red Line was kind enough to step up and offer lubricants for this little stunt, including oil, transmission, and rear differential fluid.

I expected to see burnt, spent gear oil, but it was clear whoever had the car before Cantle found it had loved the machine. The fluids were used, but not spent. When Brandon pulled the valve cover, he found clean metal everywhere, not the carbon build up and sludge you'd expect to find on a machine with this many miles on it. Given how well the engine runs and its clean internals, I suspected an engine swap at some point in the car's past. We checked identification numbers to be sure. The engine, transmission, and rear differential were all factory.

Keith got busy cutting out the old suspension components. Even if the blown Monroe dampers would pass tech, they wouldn't be safe enough for the high-speed Daytona road course. Flyin' Miata pulled a stage 2 suspension kit from the shelf. With adjustable Tokico dampers, new bump stops, and Flyin' Miata springs, the kit is designed to retain street civility and the Miata's playful nature while adding a bit more grip to the mix.

A set of Flyin' Miata sway bars with second-generation Miata end links are part of that recipe. Keith told me he's driven a Miata cross-country on an identical suspension kit. He also put an LS1 V8 into his MGB. His threshold for suffering and self-induced anguish is a little higher than most people's, so I took the endorsement with a grain of salt.

The Ultimate Street Car Association is geared toward getting modified cars onto some of the country's best tracks, and the rules are designed so that most street cars can compete without an issue. Safety is still top priority, though, and if you're going to go head to head in a convertible, you'll need a roll bar. Bill called in a few favors with the guys at Hard Dog Fabrication, who whipped up a piece for us and threw it in the mail.

"Chris Cantle/Zach Bowman"

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In made-for-TV fashion, the roll bar wouldn't arrive in Colorado until I was supposed to be in Florida. Bill yanked an identical roll bar out of one of the shop's Miatas and had it waiting for us when we pulled in. He's been bolting crash protection into Mazdas since 1990. He doesn't need instructions or templates.

The boss takes a break from carving on the removable metal panel that separates the passenger compartment from the trunk, and the shriek of the reciprocating saw dies away for a moment.

"It's just a matter of being brave and saying to yourself: 'It's not yours.'"

That seems like the kind of advice that might come in handy after a few thousand miles. Bill has the roll bar in place and secure before I can even get the gearbox drained.

"Chris Cantle/Zach Bowman"

The first-generation car wasn't exactly a titan of rigidity from the factory, and 300,000 miles of hard living hadn't done the machine any favors. While the roll bar would help with that problem, it wouldn't cure it. Bill threw in a set of frame rail braces. The pieces are gorgeous, and it's a shame they'll spend their lives hidden down below. Combined with a strut tower brace up front, the roll bar and frame rail braces would cure most of the car's floppiness.

That just left the questionable brakes. After Keith finished swapping the suspension components, he bolted on a set of braided stainless brake lines. One of our calipers had a pretty nasty leak, but FM happened to have a salvage set on the shelf for just such an emergency. A new set of slotted rotors, Porterfield pads, and fresh fluid, and the system was better than it ever was from the Mazda.

We finish up the heavy lifting a little after midnight when Keith mentions that they have a complete, factory exhaust sitting on a pallet. Mercifully, he agrees to swap the buzz can for the original pipes, thus saving my hearing and my sanity.

It was a staggering amount of work, but the car is finally up to facing down the coming miles. We realize we never even got the chance to throw Bill, Keith, or Brandon the keys for a trip around the block before the work commenced.

"Well, if we had a chance to drive it we probably would have just said it needed all this work," Keith says through a half laugh.

The floor's painted black with smudges and stains. Scrap parts are arrayed around the Miata in erratic rings, and we're all bone tired. I know better than to think the FM crew would have turned us away at the door if they'd taken a ride in the car, but most sane shops probably would have. It's a good thing these guys are as sentimental as we are about worthless little cars with more heart than horsepower.

The Miata is now a known quantity for me. There's something about laying hands on a machine and putting your eyes on every last bit and piece. It gives you the kind of mental inventory you need to face a long trip. You know which clunks are terminal. You have a baseline for leaks. You know which systems are solid and which could give you trouble. And in this case, you know the car will get you where you're going.